It's a Mall World After All (10 page)

I shrugged, "That your taste in women has improved? After all, you usually go for the cheerleader types."

Colton sat down, grudgingly. "I've only been out with one cheerleader. The rest of the girls surrounding me at that time were her friends. They come together, you know, like eggs in a carton or pairs of socks—squads of cheerleaders." And then he gave me a look that was a question all by itself. "Besides, as long as you hate my best friend, why does it matter to you what types of girls I date?"

For a moment neither of us spoke.

I knew he wanted me to apologize for my attitude about Bryant. He was waiting for it, in fact.

Which just goes to show you that getting slammed into a mat one too many times can turn a person delusional.

Bryant was using my best friend. And besides that, this was the guy who'd kept my desk well stocked with spiders throughout sixth and seventh grade. Even after all these years I still remembered the horror of finding them crawling over my things. It's not that I cared about spider footprints or anything, but you figure if spiders have taken up residence in your spiral notebooks, a few of them have probably ventured out of the dark and onto your person. Maybe some of the more adventurous ones are even spelunking through your hair.

Whenever I found one of Bryant's little gifts, I always had to stifle a scream and curb the desire to start swatting parts of my body.

Bryant thought it was so funny.

And now Colton wanted me to forget all of that and apologize for having a bad attitude about his friend? I couldn't. In fact, I was still counting on those stars I wished on in junior high to do their job. And when they did, Bryant would fall into a vat full of bloodsucking leeches.

I looked at the table instead of Colton. Neither of us said anything for a minute. Finally he reached over, took the artichoke hearts, and twisted the lid off. He placed the jar down in front of me with a thud. "I'm going to go study, Charlotte." Then he got up and walked back to the living room.

After that, the four of us went through the list of study questions, spewing off instances of symbolism, irony, and listing comparisons to other Shakespearean tragedies. Colton went through all of this with curt, formal answers in my direction.

Which was fine because I totally did not care.

When we'd finally gone over the entire list, the guys packed up their books, thanked me for the food, and left.

Kelly shut the door behind them, then leaned up against it with a sigh. "That went well."

I shut my book with a thud. "Good. Great. I'm glad. Of course, mostly I'm glad that I didn't have to fake amnesia, but the point is, I'm still glad." It didn't make sense, but Kelly smiled at me anyway.

She was too far gone in the Wesley zone to pay any attention to my ramblings.

"So you're going to spy on Bryant for me on Saturday, right?" I asked.

She gathered her books together, still smiling, "If Wesley asks me out before then."

"Oh, come on, Kelly. I got the two of you together today. You were alone for a while. You ate popcorn. That counts as a date, doesn't it?"

"Nope." She slid her books into her backpack and zipped it up. "But there's always tomorrow." Then she sighed happily and began planning out her wardrobe for roughly the rest of the year.

Let me say right now that when someone asks you what you want to be when you grow up, there's a good reason no one answers Cupid. This is mostly because being Cupid is a thankless job that often requires you to act like an idiot.

I didn't want to do it again tomorrow. I didn't even want to think about it. Between school, my job, all the holiday activities, Christmas shopping, and wrapping all those presents, I didn't have time to think about much beyond the fact that I can never find the Scotch tape when I need it. This is why, I suppose, it's called invisible tape.

And now, thanks to Kelly's stubbornness—or perhaps Wesley's stubbornness—I was going to have to put myself in some other impossibly awkward situation.

I picked up the popcorn bowl, dumped the rest of the kernels into the trash can, and dropped the bowl into the sink. Pursuing justice isn't as easy as they make it seem in the movies. I gathered up our used soda glasses and dropped them into the dishwasher, then wiped off my hands and headed to my room.

At least I hadn't played the amnesia card yet. You never knew when that might come in handy.

After school I went to work, where I thought of several more chapter topics for my dissertation. Like, just because it is the season of brotherly love doesn't mean shoppers are pleasant. This is especially true if your store happens to run a special on SuperTeen talking action figures and then runs out of them. In that case, you get a lot of people complaining to you even though you are just a lowly perfume sprayer and had nothing to do with stocking action figures, running advertisements, or whatever. I mean really, did these people think I was stashing a supply of action figures in my perfume smock or something?

After work I went to Brianna's house to help her with Spanish homework. She let me in, then yelled toward the kitchen, "How about working as a marine recruiter? Then you could at least meet hot guys!"

"Shut up!" Amanda yelled back.

Brianna headed down the hall toward her room, and I followed. "Amenity is home from college," Bri­anna said. "I'm helping her decide what she wants to do with the rest of her life." Over her shoulder she yelled, "I think the SWAT team would take you. After all, you have the right sunny disposition and people skills."

"Yeah? Well, don't make me use any of my skills on you!" Amanda shouted back.

I walked into Brianna's room and set my purse on her bed, which was already cluttered with crocheting stuff. "And why does Amanda need your career advice?"

"She's supposed to be at school, but she's taking a week off—right before finals—to think about ways to make her life more meaningful. She's not sure if she wants to go back to college next semester, because she's just wasting time taking classes that don't interest her."

I pulled Brianna's Spanish textbook off her desk and sat down. "Let me guess, she wants to start a band, right?"

Brianna shrugged. "Surprisingly, no. She's hasn't made any announcements of joining a band, a protest group, or a cult. She's just not sure she wants to go back to college."

"It's probably a phase. You know, like the time she became a vegan every other week."

Brianna picked up the crocheting needle from her bed, pushed over Bryant's afghan, and sat down. "Every time she does something stupid, my parents look at me like I'm about to become Amanda-the-sequel. Remember when they caught my sister smoking? They still give me lectures about lung cancer. She dated a guy who thought he was a vampire, and now my parents interview anybody who takes me out. I practically have to have a Breathalyzer after every party I go to because Amanda used to get drunk in high school, and now she's quitting college. Any moment my parents will burst into the room, pester me about what I want to major in, and insist it's never too early to think about life goals."

I opened up Brianna's Spanish book, flipping through the pages until I found the review questions. "So what do you want to do with your life?"

"I have no idea."

"Hey, you have something in common with your sister." Her gaze shot over to mine. "The only thing I have in common with my sister is a few chromosomes."

We studied Spanish for about an hour, and then went to the kitchen to get something to eat. Amanda was still there. She sat at the table with a plate full of nachos in front of her and a book in one hand.

Brianna opened the fridge and peered inside. "You could always be a refrigerator repairman. There's no shortage of appliances in America."

Amanda turned a page in her book, but didn't look up. "There's no shortage of a lot of things in America, and it's
repair person.
The word
repairman
is sexist."

Brianna took out a block of cheese and set it on the counter. "Which reminds me. I thought you were all gung ho to graduate in Women's Studies. You were going to save women everywhere from oppression by doing important things like insisting people call you Ms. Whatever happened to that?"

Amanda lowered her book. "I don't want to just
study
women's issues. I need a career where I can actually do something about women's issues." The book went back up. "And also a career where I can actually make a living."

Brianna poured tortilla chips onto a plate and sliced cheese on top of it. "Do you mean to say you want a career where you can make money—that green stuff which is the root of all evil?"

Amanda didn't answer right away. She fingered the spine of her book. "I'm not becoming materialistic. I've just realized it's hard to make a difference when you have no resources. Money is a resource, that's all." She lifted her book up again. "I mean, have you seen how much hybrid cars cost?"

Brianna put our plate of nachos into the microwave to melt the cheese. She stood by the oven, her arms crossed, which made her look like her mother. "Well, if you want a good career, don't you think you should finish college?"

"Probably. But I need to figure out what degree I want to earn. I thought I'd come home, where I could have some peace and quiet and think about it. Thanks, by the way, for giving me so much peace and quiet." She picked up her glass and took a quick sip. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

I knew why Brianna was staring at Amanda. It was the same reason I was staring at her. These were the first words Amanda had said in years that actually made sense.

"I'm not staring." Brianna took the plate from the microwave and bumped the door shut with her elbow. "We're just taking a break from studying Spanish." She took a few steps toward the kitchen door, then turned back. "You could be a doctor, you know. You could work in one of those clinics for the poor."

"Yeah. Maybe," Amanda said.

"You'd be a good doctor." Brianna paused for a moment, as though she was going to say more, but Amanda had already turned her attention back to her book.

We walked out of the kitchen and went down the hall. Brianna was ahead of me. I'm not sure whether she heard Amanda's muffled, "Thanks," or not.

nine

T
hursday morning I walked by Wesley's locker four times so I could accidentally run into him. I had it all planned out. I would talk to him about his position on the dance committee. He was on the cleanup crew, but I would pretend I didn't know that and ask if he was too busy to help out with decorations. From there, we'd make general small talk about the dance until I mentioned how fun it is to go with a date and suggest he take Kelly.

On my fifth pass through the hallway with no sign of Wesley, I leaned up against the row of lockers and tried to think of a plan B. Was there any way I could work the whole conversation into the brief time we saw each other during English class?

"Hi, Charlotte."

Wesley appeared before me unexpectedly, startling me so much I banged my shoulders into his locker. Then in an attempt to appear casual and not plotting, I gripped my books to my chest and stared at him. "Hi, Wesley."

He didn't move. I didn't move.

He nodded in my direction. "Uh, can you scoot over so I can get to my locker?"

"Sorry." I slid out of the way, blushing. "Is this your locker?" A stupid thing to say because, hello, I'd passed him at his locker like a hundred times before. Despite this bad start, I launched into my plan. "What a coincidence. I was just thinking of you. I mean, I was wondering what dance position you're on."

His eyes narrowed like he couldn't understand me. "Dance position?"

Oh, this was going well. I'd just asked the guy his dance position. Like excuse me, Wesley, are you about to do a pirouette? I thought so. When you're done with that, perhaps the two of us could do a little waltzing in the hallway or something.

"I mean your dance committee position," I said. "What committee are you on?"

"Oh." He nodded as he opened his locker. "Cleanup crew."

"That's great." Where was I supposed to go with this? I suddenly couldn't remember. I only knew I had to work Kelly into the conversation. "I'm doing decorations with Kelly."

"I thought you were doing refreshments with Preeth."

"I am, but I'm helping Kelly too because, you know, she can use all the help she can get." Oops, not the thing you want to say to a guy to entice him to date your friend. "Not that she's incompetent or anything. She's very competent. And smart. Well, of course you know she's smart because she's in NHS with us. I just meant she's busy. Although not so busy that she doesn't love to go out. Because she does. And she likes to dance too."

There is a time in every plan when you know it's time to cut and run. I had long since past that point.

Wesley stared at me in that same way people stare at mimes. You know, just waiting to see what bizarre thing they're going to do next.

I took a step away from the lockers. "So the dance should be really fun."

"Yeah," he said.

I didn't wait around to see if he had more to add. Even a mime has a certain amount of pride.

"Colton asked Olivia?" I repeated, and then because I knew I sounded disapproving added, "He's one of the people in charge. What's he going to do if there's a problem with the music or something?"

"Let the deejay take care of it?" Aleeta said.

I bit a carrot in half and crunched it into little pieces. "Olivia didn't strike me as that nice. She seemed egotistical, if you ask me."

"Well, I guess we'll get to meet her and see for our­selves," Brianna said.

Yeah. And with the way things were going, Olivia and Brianna would probably become great friends and then— My thought process stopped. If Bryant had any romantic designs on Shelby, he wouldn't want Colton to bring Olivia to the dance, would he? Olivia was Shelby's friend. Olivia would see Bryant and Brianna together and tell Shelby about it.

It didn't make sense.

Unless Bryant really did tell Shelby he had a girlfriend, and I was wrong about the whole thing.

I ate another carrot, slowly this time, and mulled it over in my mind. Had I jumped to conclusions about Bryant, like everybody said?

It suddenly seemed possible.

I should have been happy, or at least relieved, but I wasn't. It felt as though my thoughts had scattered up in the air and they didn't know where to land. Was I intuitive or suspicious? A busybody or a good friend?

I continued to eat my carrot sticks, pulverizing them into nothing.

It didn't help that I knew Colton and Olivia would spend the evening dancing together while I stood at the refreshment table passing out cookies to happy couples.

I could have been the one dancing with Colton—but no, I'd placed my loyalties with Brianna, the girl who was now poised to become Olivia's new friend. I couldn't even skip out on the whole stupid event because I was stuck on the refreshment committee—and oh yeah, the decoration committee too.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I could dance with someone every once in a while. Then I could at least pretend to have a good time. But no one would ask me to dance. Not since I had a policy of not dating the guys at my school. They'd all branded me a snob.

A snob with a chip on her shoulder.

I thought back to my sophomore year, when I'd moved home to California. It had felt so good to rebuff the advances guys had sent my way. You
had no use for
me,
I had thought silently,
and so now I have no use
for you.
I'd celebrated my separation from them. Separation was better. Only right now it just felt lonely.

Neither one of us talked much during the drive. My thoughts still hadn't landed—well, except for my thoughts about Olivia. I was squarely against Colton going out with Olivia, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

Finally we pulled into St. Matthew's parking lot, got out of his car, and walked into the office.

The principal, a nun whose desk sign read, SISTER MARY CATHERINE, greeted us with a firm handshake. "It's a great thing you want to do for these kids. Just great. A lot of their families struggle." She sat down behind her desk, then shuffled around piles of paper. "I sent out thirty permission slips, and I got all thirty back. That has to be some sort of record. Usually we have to remind kids and remind parents, and then still only half the kids turn anything in."

Sister Mary Catherine handed a stack of paper to Colton. "The bus will leave here after school and make it to the mall sometime between three and three ten. You'll have everything set up by then?"

Colton nodded. "The mall will let us use their Santa chair between three and four o'clock."

They went on to talk about other aspects of the field trip, and I realized that not only had Colton arranged details with the mall, but also he'd been in contact with the principal's secretary.

As the president of NHS, he had every right to organize the thing; but still, it had been my idea, and I felt completely out of the loop.

Colton glanced through the contents of the wish lists. "We'll pass these out to our members so they can start shopping. I'll give you a call a day or two before the twenty-first to make sure everything is still on track."

"Wonderful," Sister Mary Catherine said. "The kids are looking forward to it already." She stood up, signaling the end of our meeting. I hadn't said one thing during the whole session.

Sister Mary Catherine glanced at her watch, then smiled back at us. "I'm supposed to meet with the grounds crew in two minutes. Why don't I walk with you outside."

Colton shuffled through the stack of papers, scanning the wish lists while the three of us headed to the door.

"Is Reese somewhere in all that paperwork?" I asked. "Is T.J.?" Colton flipped through some more of the papers, searching.

"Reese Smith and T.J. Macintosh," Sister Mary Catherine answered. "Their lists are in the stack." She gave a small laugh as we walked. "I know those two well."

"I met them in the mall," I said. "They seemed like nice kids."

"Most of the kids here are." Sister Mary Catherine glanced around the walkway that led to the parking lot. "Reese is probably still around. His grandmother picks him up after school. Oh, there he is."

Up ahead of us on the walkway, Reese leaned against the school wall. His gray backpack seemed almost as big as he did.

"Do you want to go over and say hi?" Colton asked.

knew I should let Reese know I was a part of his field trip to the mall on the twenty-first so he didn't come to Bloomingdale's looking for me on Christmas Eve, but I didn't answer. It seemed a risky thing to introduce Colton to the kid who'd thrown sodas on him twice.

Sister Mary Catherine glanced at her watch again. "This is where I leave you. Thanks again for putting the field trip together." She gave us a wave and headed in another direction.

We walked on slowly. Colton examined the lists. "I don't know if this was such a good idea. Half these kids want electric scooters and Xboxes. We don't have the budget for that. They'll be disappointed."

"They'll be even more disappointed if they don't get anything."

Colton mumbled something that I couldn't hear but which seemed decidedly lacking in the Christmas spirit.

"Look around at these kids," I told Colton in a lowered voice. "They're wearing hand-me-downs, and living on the free-lunch program. They need our help."

He glanced around, then back at the papers. "You can't tell by looking at them whether they're on a free-lunch program."

"Yes, I can. They're skinny. Malnourished."

"They're little kids. They all look that way."

"Perfume Lady!" Reese called out. I looked up to see him running toward me. His backpack shook up and down with every step. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came by to talk to the principal about the field trip to see Santa at the mall."